


Madness this way lies

by paranoid_fridge



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Dark, M/M, Rape, Suicide, Violence, so beware!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:43:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoid_fridge/pseuds/paranoid_fridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>de-anon from the kink meme. Prompt:</p><p>  <i>So, let's say that post-Battle of Five Armies, Thorin survives. Fili and Kili don't. Thorin is half-crazy with grief and still furious about the Arkenstone, so he locks Bilbo in Erebor's dungeon and has his way with him. Give me angst between two guilt-ridden, fucked up people. Do things get better? Do they get worse?</i></p><p>I decided things get worse.</p><p>Edited to fix some errors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madness this way lies

**Author's Note:**

> ... I have nothing to say in my defense, I will only mention that the franchise does not belong to me, and the prompt doesn't either. The rest stems straight from the mess that is my grey matter...

Perhaps it is Bilbo’s compassion that leads to their ruin.

He sneaks into Erebor where the princes’ bodies lie in state awaiting funeral (one Bilbo cannot go to, being a persona non grata, still). But he wants to say his goodbyes and deliver an apology. Because even though he only sought to save them all, Fili and Kili did still die (by orcs and goblins, not elves and men, but that matters little).

Bilbo did not expect Thorin to enter the chamber, then.

They freeze.

“Have you come to gloat, traitor?” Thorin questions, his face dark and his voice filled with hatred, “Have you come to admire the fruits of your work?”

Bilbo’s heart leaps to his throat. He stumbles backwards, raises his hand (though he recognizes the expression in Thorin’s eyes and knows the king will not be reasoned with).

“Thorin, I … I only…”

He only wants to express his most sincere condolences.

“Silence!” thunders Thorin, “Haven’t you wrought enough destruction yet? Wasn’t stealing my family’s treasure enough? Did you have to steal their lives, too?”

There’s a madness in Thorin’s words that surpasses even the gold fever. Icy foreboding runs down Bilbo’s spine. He takes back another step, and then he’s up against the wall (and shaking on the inside).

“No, I…”

The world shifts abruptly, Bilbo hits the ground, shoulder first, and pain explodes all over the left side of his face. His ears are ringing, there’re black spots and suddenly a hand grips his hair, pulling him upright again.

Thorin’s face is close, eyes glittering maliciously. Bilbo belatedly realizes that the Thorin he knew – the noble king – is gone. And even the stranger that dangled him over the wall has vanished, leaving only grief and fury and their child named madness.

The next blow lands just underneath his ribs (already bruised and aching). It doesn’t end then, but sensations fade away. Bilbo is only faintly away of his body being jerked and pushed over the cold stone floor of the burial chamber (the only pain he feels is inside. He didn’t wish for grief to tear Thorin’s sanity to shreds, he didn’t wish for his plan to end up with Fili and Kili dead, and if he could just make it all undone he would pay whatever price necessary) and then the world disappears.

***

Only when the body on the ground before him moves no more Thorin takes a deep breath, calming his frantic heart and pounding head. This isn’t over, but he won’t defile the chamber bearing his nephews’ still bodies with more blood.

He calls in the guards.

There’re two of them, both stemming from Dain’s host. They’re grim-faced, thoroughly trustworthy and take in the scene without flinching.

“Take him to the dungeon,” Thorin orders, “Make sure he doesn’t escape.”

They pick Bilbo up and one of the dwarves says something in Khuzdul. It’s an old word for an even older practice (one that was abolished in other dwarven kingdoms before Fili and Kili were born, but thinking about his nephews only leads to paralyzing pain and Thorin can’t indulge this. Instead he chooses white, hot rage).

His eyes find Bilbo, whose unconscious body is carelessly held up by the two guards. There’s blood staining the collar of his formerly white shirt (and a part of Thorin wants there to be more. His poor nephews had been covered in it).

He nods at the dwarf. “And whatever else you deem appropriate.”

The guards nod, faces grim (after all, it is no secret who took the Arkenstone. Men and elves may honor Bilbo for it; dwarves, however, hold no such sentiments).

***

When Bilbo comes to, he’s laid out on a cold, dank floor and surrounded by total darkness.  His body is a mass of assorted aches, his shoulders strained unnaturally as his arms have ended behind his back. When he attempts to move he finds them bound by coarse rope – and then prickling, burning pain envelopes them as blood returns to the numbed limbs.

It feels like his arms are on fire, and his shoulders still ache, and desperately Bilbo rolls over, though the burn does not abate. He bites on his tongue, accidentally hitting his head against the cold stone floor, and it takes ages until he can breathe again.

It’s not an improvement.

Alone in the darkness with only his own thoughts for company all he feels like is crying. There’s so much pain piled up inside of him it’s a miracle he hasn’t fallen apart yet. And as if to mock him, for a moment his mind summons up a picture of the Shire the morning before Gandalf arrived. How green the hills had been, how blue the sky.

How simple life had been.

How happy.

And now it feels like he will never know happiness again.

(He may have achieved his goals. No battle happened between men, elves and dwarves, but that does not make Kili and Fili any less dead. Does not undo his betrayal. Does not undo the insanity he unwittingly brought onto Thorin).

He can’t imagine how things could ever be alright again.

***

It’s probably not much later that the door to his cell is thrown open and two strange dwarves step in. Bilbo flinches away from the light and curls into himself.

Heavy footsteps echo, and before he knows what is happening he’s rolled onto his stomach by one dwarf, while the other stretches out his legs. Bilbo’s heart leaps to his throat, he hears metal ring somewhere close by.

“In accordance with the laws of our people, you will not walk away from judgment,” says the dwarf holding Bilbo’s shoulders, his voice oddly even and emotionless. The other dwarf wipes the dirt from the backside of his ankles and lower legs.

Bilbo’s breathing stutters. He’s pinned, can’t move but wriggle, and somehow the dwarf’s words fill his heart with foreboding.

“Indeed,” adds the first dwarf, his tone now less official, “You will never walk again.”

Before Bilbo can comprehend his words, cold metal kisses the backside of his left ankle.

And cuts deeply.

He’s on fire, wants to scream, but there’s not enough air in his lungs, and the dwarves don’t let him move at all and the metal bites deeper and deeper, and there’s wetness of his face and white stars in his vision and he wants to pull away from the unbearable pain, but he can’tcan’tcan’t –

Something gives, and for a split moment he’s away, and then the world is filled by pain again. When the blade is finally removed his heart is thundering painfully in his chest, and Bilbo gasps for breath, while his nerve endings remain on fire.

Then the blade touches his right ankle.

And when it begins to cut Bilbo passes out.

***

He wakes with tearstains on his face.

His throat is dry, and a dull pain radiates up from his legs. For once Bilbo is thankful for the lack of light – he won’t have to see the damage. He doesn’t even try to move. For the moment the pain is dulled (rather overshadowed by the pain in his heart), and he’s even warm.

Perhaps it’s fever.

Perhaps he’s dying.

He realizes he doesn’t actually care.

***

In the early hours of the morning Thorin leaves his chambers.

He cannot sleep. His mind is plagued by visions of his nephews dead on the battlefield. Of the Arkenstone in Bard’s hands. Of Bilbo Baggins’ face. There’s a ball or rage rolling in his stomach – he should have let the hobbit fall from the cliff during the thunder battle. Drown him in the Lake.  Or if only Smaug had roasted him!

But now, Baggins lives even as Fili and Kili died. Lives, and elves and men hail him, not caring about the despicability of his actions (how suiting, Thorin thought, how suiting for the treacherous elves to accept one so like their own. How suiting for the greedy men to accept another that had no scruples of taking what did not belong to him).

Before he knows what he is doing his feet carry him down to the dungeon.

***

When Thorin throes open the dungeon door there’s fire cursing through his veins.

He wants revenge, wants to make the hobbit suffer – suffer like he does, suffer this inescapable pain. Fili and Kili may be dead, but Thorin will not let their deaths remain without vengeance. Bilbo will pay.

The hobbit is curled up on the floor, knees tucked to his chest. He’s been asleep (outrageous – how can he sleep while Thorin is plagued by visions and memories, and Kili and Fili are dead because of him), and only sluggishly comes awake when Thorin storms inside.

“Wha…” is all Bilbo manages before Thorin’s boot catches him in the chest.

Bilbo is thrown onto his back, gasping for air, eyes wide (and there’s fear. Fear and pain and Thorin’s blood  _sings_ ).

Thorin straddles Bilbo, uncaring of the pained noise escaping from the hobbit’s throat. His spine is bent back over his tied arms, leaving a pale, slender throat exposed. One of Thorin’s hands is large enough to wrap around it completely.

He squeezes.

Terror dances in Bilbo’s eyes – shudders run through his body, he struggles helplessly and all Thorin feels is a grim satisfaction. Only when Bilbo’s eyelids start fluttering he lets go.

Death is too merciful a ruling.

Something even darker stirs in Thorin’s stomach, and he observes as the hobbit weakly attempts to even out his breathing, to adjust his shoulders. His entire form relaxes when Thorin shifts his weight off of him.

Not so easily, thinks Thorin to himself.

Death is too merciful, but there are other ways. Fili and Kili will not return to the world of the living, but there are ways to make sure the living will not return to their former lives (especially those of peace and tranquility and leisure days under a warm sun) ever again.

Bilbo’s eyes widen abruptly as Thorin tugs down his trousers and small clothes in one movement. He flails, but Thorin doesn’t let him get away. With one hand he pins down Bilbo’s hips (the skin here is still unblemished, white and Thorin hates him all the more for it), and with the other he unlaces his own garments.

There’s a knot of tension filling his stomach (and that’s the only reason he’s hard) and with a grunt he aligns himself. Bilbo’s eyes grow wider as he pales dramatically.

“No! Thori –“ the scream is cut short as Thorin slaps down a hand on Bilbo’s mouth (and across his nose, so the hobbit can’t breathe).

“Don’t make a sound,” Thorin hisses (maybe his length has flagged a little).

Bilbo nods frantically. There’s wetness clinging to his lower lashes, and when Thorin removes his hand Bilbo turns his head sideways. It’s such a demure gesture that something in Thorin’s chest squeezes – and the roar of rage fills his ears again and he pushes in.

It’s hot and tight and incredibly painful for both. Choked sobs fall from Bilbo’s lips, his whole body tensing to protest the violent intrusion – Thorin feels tissue tearing underneath the pressure, and skin scraping. His own member aches, but he pushes on, determined to carry out his vengeance.

Moments later Bilbo goes completely limb under him, nothing but a ragdoll tossed along with Thorin’s thrusts.

Eventually he finishes, but it’s not blissful. It’s cold, momentary satisfaction.

***

The next day Balin carefully approaches him, holding a document.

“We found this among Fili’s pack,” Thorin’s old friend states, “I think you may want to read it.”

Thorin dismisses Balin with a sharp nod, but his heart clenches painfully at the familiar penmanship. It’s clearly Fili’s straight, slightly curving letters.

Spelling out Bilbo’s name.

It’s only because this is probably the last letter Fili ever wrote that Thorin doesn’t rip it into pieces instantly. Instead he unfolds the parchment and begins reading.

 _Dear Mr. Baggins_ , the letter begins,

_I am writing on the behalf of myself, my brother and probably a vast majority, if not all members of this company. We would like to express our deepest regret at our uncle’s judgment, and our utmost respect for your courage. Please do not take his words to heart – once peace has found us I have no doubt the harsh ruling will be undone. I only hope you are patient to wait – we would love to have you amongst ourselves once more._

His fingers shake.

He lets the parchment sink. Pressure builds up in his chest, he’s shaking and the world readjusts itself. In the end it’s like waking up from a nightmare.

Only that this nightmare has, undeniably, been real. And what is done, is done.

Thorin barely manages to retain his composure. He orders Balin to oversee the state affairs for the afternoon, doesn’t tell anybody where he is going, and for once is grateful for how sparsely populated Erebor still is.

There are no guards in the dungeons.

Why should there be; when the only prisoner cannot walk away after all? Thorin swallows – his heart clenches painfully as he acknowledges that Bilbo will never walk again. And it is his fault.

***

The dungeons are silent, dim and humid. For a moment he fears Bilbo will already be dead (more likely than he wants to admit to himself. A part of him doesn’t really want to be here, urges him to turn his back and forget about the small being he had imprisoned, because deep down he knows that he can never undo what he did to Bilbo) – then he hears an odd cough. One that clearly comes from a dehydrated throat, even if it does sound wet.

When he throws open the door to the dungeon cell (utterly dark but for the dim shine of fire from outside), Bilbo is curled up on himself not far from where Thorin left him, and barely reacts. He’s drawn his tattered clothes around him, and his face is hidden under unruly, curled hair. His legs are scratched and bloodied up, and the two cuts on his ankles are two red, precise, raw lines.

Thorin feels sick.

He can’t ever make up for this, he realizes, he has no right to ask for forgiveness and he shouldn’t even be here. A choked gasp emerges from Bilbo and Thorin realizes the hobbit is awake.

With a heavy heart he approaches the crumbled form.

He sinks to his knees, stretches out a hand and hesitates before touching Bilbo’s shoulder. He has no  _right_.  He should confess and summon professional healers. He’s still being selfish.

“Master Baggins,” he says quietly and it doesn’t matter if his voice sounds defeated. Bilbo flinches anyway, keeping his face hidden. He is shaking, Thorin realizes. Whether from fear or from fever he can’t tell.

Thorin takes a deep breath, reaches out and tenderly brushes a few strands of matted, curly hair from Bilbo’s face. The hobbit’s shaking increases and with unveiled terror he observes Thorin’s every move. There’s a dark bruise blossoming on his cheek, almost hiding the small cut in its center. More bruises form a necklace around Bilbo’s throat, and there’s a trickle of dark blood in the corner of Bilbo’s mouth.

Thorin’s heart sinks.

He recalls last night. His desire to cause permanent damage.

And he succeeded.

Bilbo’s left shoulder looks dislocated – even through shirt and jacket Thorin can guess that. The pain ought to be blinding, but all Thorin finds in Bilbo’s eyes is fear. So he sighs, draws a knife and leans over.

His intention is to cut the ropes binding Bilbo’s arms.

At the sight of the blade however, Bilbo’s eyes roll back and he falls unconscious.

Sad as it is, this makes things easier. Thorin cuts the ropes and spends a few moments massaging Bilbo’s wrists and hands. The fingers are white, and it takes frighteningly long until color returns to them. Then he wraps Bilbo in his fur cloak and carries him to his chambers.

***

The injuries take a long time healing. Even with the support of the best (and most discreet) healers available, Bilbo lingers close to death’s door for far too long, and when he is eventually on the mend his face remains pale and gaunt (and nothing will ever banish the horror from his eyes).

He’s settled among the finest pillows gold can buy and Thorin makes sure nothing but the best ever touches the hobbit, be it food or cloth or company. At first Bilbo doesn’t talk – one of the healers suggests his vocal cords may have been damaged, or it may be the effect of whatever happened to him in the dungeons.

What (or who) happened to Bilbo down there is never spoken of.

Though the healers, at least, must know, and Thorin is certain his company can guess. Even though everybody pretends everything is alright.

Eventually Bofur manages to draw an answer from Bilbo, and shortly after Ori makes him smile. It is a tiny, shallow thing, but a smile nonetheless, and Thorin dares to hope. Not for Bilbo’s forgiveness, because he can never have that, but perhaps for his recovery.

Quietly he arranges for two dwarves from Dain’s host (both mute, checked thoroughly by Nori) to play porter for Bilbo. Because even if the hobbit may be unable to walk, he should still be able to move according to his own wishes.

(A part of Thorin reminds him that, by his own wishes, Bilbo would probably prefer to return to the Shire on his own two feet. But that is impossible. As much as he can tell Bilbo misses sunlight – whenever the hobbit gets a short opportunity to leave the mountain his expression turns to one of heart-wrenching longing – and that the gentle hills of the Shire are where he belongs, this will never happen. No matter how much Thorin’s wishes it).

After a while Bilbo begins to involve himself in Erebor’s politics. He’s diplomatic, and very, very popular with both the messengers and dignitaries from Laketown, Dale and even the elves. Thorin pretends not to see the suspicious glances cast his way by Bard (they must suspect how Bilbo came by his devastating injuries).

However, Bilbo remains pale and thin and his smiles shallow (gentle and sad at the most, and Thorin has never seen one of them). He doesn’t look at, nor speak to Thorin – and Thorin feels he doesn’t have the right to approach him after what happened. In turn he has the highest honors bestowed upon Bilbo, provides him with gem-studded finery and the most precious stones.

***

Once more it is Balin who approaches Thorin.

“Master Baggins is unwell,” he says, looking out over the empty throne room. Thorin frowns and nods.

“Speak to him,” says Balin.

This is impossible for a myriad of reasons. None of which Thorin can tell, so in the end he finds himself in front of Bilbo’s chambers. His heart is filled with dread when he knocks.

“Come in,” Bilbo calls.

When Thorin steps inside, Bilbo stiffens. He is seated behind his desk, dressed in a silk shirt and now sets down a quill. As ever, his face is pale and drawn, but he is attentive instead of outright terrified.

“Thorin,” says Bilbo, “What brings you here?”

His voice his even (though his choice of words is entirely inappropriate. Thorin is King under the Mountain – but in light of what he did to Bilbo, to the hobbit he is less than dirt. There’s no proper form of address between the two of them; things are far too twisted for that).

“Master Baggins,” Thorin starts after a sigh (he wonders what he should say. Balin said to talk, but for once Thorin does not find any words to express what he feels), “I … I would like to apologize.”

The air goes still.

Thorin swallows. “I do know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. Indeed, I would never expect it. However, I believe you ought to know I deeply regret my actions that night, as well as in the weeks prior.”

Bilbo nods slowly. “Gold fever and grief, or so I have been told,” he says. Thorin doesn’t dare ask who told Bilbo that.

“It does not excuse my actions,” replies Thorin.

There’s no reply to this, and somehow it hurts – even though Thorin knows that he deserves it. Eventually Bilbo inclines his head. “For what it’s worth, I intended to extend my sincerest condolences for your losses, then.”

Thorin’s heart clenches painfully.

“I had not meant for anybody to die,” adds Bilbo.

Thorin jerks his head up so fast he almost tears a muscle. There’s a very strange note of desolation in Bilbo’s voice, haunted quality in his eyes as he stares into the distance that makes Thorin feel cold abruptly.

Bilbo can’t honestly believe…

“Nor did I mean to betray you,” continues the hobbit, unaware of Thorin’s growing horror, “I was desperate, perhaps, and saw no other option. I believe in the end it shows only that small-minded people like myself are better off not involving themselves in politics. I only wish I had known before anybody had had to die.”

Thorin clears his throat. He doesn’t quite know what to say, but then he recalls Fili’s letter.

“Master Baggins, I believe your actions were rather appreciated by the company. Especially by my nephews,” the admission is painful, but true, “And at this point nobody is unaware of your noble intentions.”

Bilbo only shrugs, lost in his thoughts. “Yet they are dead.”

***

There’s nothing more to be said. Every time Thorin looks at Bilbo – who, when dressed in silks, furs and with gemstones in his hair, painfully resembles a living doll – he is reminded of what he did. Of the damage that can’t be undone.

It’s a sunny day of early summer when Bilbo asks his porters to carry him outside and let him sit on the wall. He waves them away, requesting to be alone for a bit.

The sun is warm on his face.

When the porters return at sunset Bilbo has disappeared.

Moments later his body is discovered on the rocks below.

***

Bofur leaves Erebor directly after Bilbo’s funeral. He makes a vague comment about distant relatives in the Ered Luin (a lie), and then is never heard from again. The funeral itself is a tense affair, with a majority of the attendees casting glares at Thorin.

Even Gandalf varies between anger, grief and a sort of sympathy. Thranduil shows nothing of that sort, and perhaps only the desolation of the remaining company of dwarves stops a renewed declaration of war.

A very few weeks later Thorin renounces his crown and leaves to seek out either death or atonement.

***end***

_Epilogue:_   The kingdom prospers, but for the original company happiness remains a scarce commodity. Gloin manages; Balin however decides to leave for Moria. And Oin and Ori join him.

Thorin learns of their fates while on the road.

Years later he ends up in the Shire. It is the evening Drogo and Primula Baggins drown.


End file.
